A Little Bit of Me

Jottings and Writing, miscellanous misgivings

Mothers Death

Congestive Heart Failure

As deaths go, it’d be better
than most
the self slipping off
in a sea
of morphined tranquility.
But for you, mother,
is this the good night
you choose?

You who could single-handeldly

Fight demons and monsters, with your bare hands and shrill voice

I can hear you laughing and calling me a little shit

From beyond the grave.

A porcine valve
might save you,
but you just whistle
through your teeth.
“Pig gristle in my heart”
Look, I argue,
You heart

Once paved in gold

Is now finally at rest


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